


A Tale that Never Ends

by berriofclouhs



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-18 08:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9376871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berriofclouhs/pseuds/berriofclouhs
Summary: world famous ice skater Victor Nikiforov drifts uncontrollably back and forth through time, meeting Yuuri multiple times throughout his journey to the Grand Prix.Time Traveler's Wife! AU





	1. That Day in Summer

**_July, 1995._ **

 

Yuuri was six years old when he first saw him. He had taken a drink of water from his bottle when he saw a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye. Out of pure whim, he followed his instincts, tossing his bottle back into his backpack and taking off down the hallway he had seen the blur disappear to. However, after a while of searching, he felt utterly disappointed. He hadn’t seen any more signs of whatever it was, and he was pretty sure Minako would scold him for running off when he was supposed to be practicing. Blowing a frustrated raspberry, Yuuri opened the closest door to him- which happened to be a broom closet- and froze.

Standing in front of him was the most beautiful person he had ever set his eyes on. Flowing silver hair and turquoise eyes stared back in wonder, delicate pink lips opened slightly in question. Yuuri noticed the boy was also stark naked, but that fact got pushed to the back of his brain for the time being.

(Yuuri did note that the other was also a boy, despite having long hair.)

“あ--あなたは誰?” Yuuri managed to stammer out, after a long and awkward staring contest.

The other boy just stared back, eyes widening in wonder, as foreign syllables spilled out of his mouth in excitement.

“Вы говорите по-японски?”

“Могу ли я в Японии?”

“Как вас зовут?”

Yuuri stared at the stranger, dumbly, before shaking his head furiously while trying to recall his last English lesson in school.

 _If only I hadn’t fallen asleep during class!_ He thought furiously.

Fumbling with his words, he finally came up with, “T-talk English?”

“Yes, yes!” the stranger exclaimed, in accented English, excitedly. “I can speak!”

Yuuri sighed in relief. At least the language barrier wouldn’t be too great. Just as he was racking his brain on how to inquire, politely, in English, how the other boy got in (seeing as the receptionist wouldn’t let a complete stranger into the building, much less a naked, foreign, boy), a familiar voice called.

“ゆうり、どこに?”

_Oh no! If Minako sees him, he’ll get in trouble for sure! I gotta hide him!_

Springing into action, Yuuri pushed the boy farther into the closet, rearranging the various mops and brooms to be less conspicuous.

“кто вам звонит? что происходит?” the silver haired boy asked, worry etched on his face. He tried to peek out, but Yuuri shook his head insistently, repeating, “No, no, no.”

_I hope he understands. I can’t let him get found out, I just can’t. Somehow, I feel a strong connection to him, even though we just met._

Taking his glasses off, Yuuri placed them on the other boy, then for good measure, reached up and slightly adjusted the boy's silver locks so that they were partially hiding his left eye. When he was satisfied with the disguise, he closed the closet door and dropped to his knees, pretending to search for something.

“ゆうり！ あなたはそこにいる!” his ballet teacher huffed. “あなたはどこにいた？ 私はあなたのために絶対にどこでも探していた!”

“申し訳ありませんミナコ先生,” Yuuri began, putting on his best “innocent” face. "私は音を聞いて調査したかったのですが、ここには誰もいません."

After a few more moments of Minako scolding him for running off and taking an extra break, she finally relented and told him to head back. Since she was right behind him, there was no way he could go back for the mysterious boy- or his glasses.

Two grueling hours later, Yuuri was packing his bags to go home, on the verge of a panic attack because he couldn’t find his glasses, when it hit him like lightning and he remembered the strange events of earlier that day.

Racing down the corridor, he stopped before the closet, guilt eating at him.

He had forgotten the boy inside the closet for _two hours_! Unless the boy was somehow able to escape without getting caught, he must be _starving_!

Panting slightly, Yuuri flung open the door, only to stare in dismay.

Everything had been left the way it was- as if the boy had just _disappeared_.

Bending over, Yuuri picked up his glasses from the floor. Noticing a slight smudge on the corner of the lens, he brought them up to his mouth and blew on the lens. A layer of condensation appeared and he grabbed the corner of his shirt to wipe it away, when the light from the hallway reflected off the lens, revealing something written in funky letters across the two lens.

_Витя._

 

_\----_

Translations:

あ--あなたは誰? w-who are you?

Вы говорите по-японски? do you speak Japanese?

Могу ли я в Японии? am I in Japan?

Как вас зовут? what's your name?

ゆうり、どこに? Yuuri, where are you?

кто вам звонит? что происходит? who's calling you? what's happening?

ゆうり！ あなたはそこにいる! Yuuri! There you are!

あなたはどこにいた？ 私はあなたのために絶対にどこでも探していた! where were you? I was looking absolutely everywhere for you!

申し訳ありませんミナコ先生 I'm sorry Minako sensei.

私は音を聞いて調査したかったのですが、ここには誰もいません。I heard a sound and wanted to investigate, but there's no one here. **_(notice how he says "no one" instead of "nothing". Slight slip of the tongue since he was nervous about covering up, but luckily, his teacher didn't notice.)_**

_In future chapters, until Yuuri can speak English and Russian better and Victor can speak Japanese better, it will be awkward half-conversations in English and a whole lot of confusion, so look forward to that. :D_

 

_Here's the first chapter guys! Quite honestly, I'm really nervous posting this. Compared to the multitude of fics I've read from this fandom so far, I'm not talented at all. But this idea kept bothering me and wouldn't go away, so here I am._

_I hope you like my humble offering of a fic!_

_~Berri_


	2. Imminent Disaster, Confusion

**July, 2016**

 

“Definitely, I’ll let him know. Thank you again for all your help, Chris. Talk to you later.”

Yuuri enters the kitchen, cell phone still balanced between his shoulder and ear.

“Victor, Chris just called. He wants to know-” Yuuri freezes, still in the middle of talking. The kitchen is dead silent. On the cutting board lay the half-cut bell peppers that were supposed to be their dinner, next to a shiny knife. The kettle on the stove whistles, indicating a long-ready batch of his favorite tea. Victor’s clothes lay scattered on the ground, the well-worn t-shirt in a crumpled mess on top of his favorite pair of track pants, and underneath that, a pair of grey boxer briefs and white ankle socks.

Yuuri walked over, turned off the stove and gathered the clothes, shaking them out and folding them _just so_ , laying them on the couch ready to be worn again. He took out his mug from the cupboard (pale blue, with a smiling cartoon poodle) and poured himself a cup of the tea. Sitting down on the couch, he waited, patiently.

 

**November, 2015**

 

Victor had been an especially demanding coach today, making him do quad flips and quad salchows over and over again to practice consistency. So far he had only fallen a handful of times during their practice, which his rear end, hip, and elbow were already screaming at him for. Gaining speed, he launches himself into the air, tucking his arms in neatly. He can already feel it: this is going to be another success. Sure enough, he lands perfectly, his blades making a satisfying _scwhink_ sound as it connected with the ice. Surprisingly, Victor doesn’t make a comment that time, unlike the other times, even if it was just to compliment him on his form or point out a small detail he had missed. Looking over to where his coach stood, he was shocked to see Victor, his coach, the five time grand prix champion, _crying_. He quickly skated over to the boards.

“What’s wrong? Was my form not tight enough? Did I not gain enough height on that jump? I can do it again,” he began, but was cut off by a completely unexpected, and warm, hug.

 _His coach, the five time grand prix champion, was hugging **him**_.

“V-victor?” Bewildered by his coach’s actions, his brain completely shut down.

“Don’t leave me,” Victor begged, voice trembling. “離れずにそばにいて.”

“I-“ Yuuri began, confused where even to begin. He took a deep breath, counted to ten, and decided to start with the easiest question.

“Where- when did you learn to speak Japanese like that?”

“Huh?” Victor looked confused. “From you, of course.”

“Oh.” Either his coach was a fast learner or he had been taking secret lessons (from Minako-sensei or the triplets, most likely).

“Yuuri,” Victor began, “can you promise me something?”

Yuuri blinked.

“What is it?”

Victor looked him in the eyes, a serious expression on his face.

“In the future, if you ever visit a certain blonde Swiss skater by the name of Christophe Giacometti, _do_ _not_ go near the St. Moritz Olympic Ice Rink. He will try to convince you that it’s a short trip from your hotel, and it’ll be fun, but whatever you do, _don’t go_.”

“Uh…” Yuuri was at a loss for words. Why was Victor telling him this, all of a sudden? And why was he so serious?

“Victor, a-are you feeling ok?” Yuuri asked, a concerned look on his face. “Should we go home? Are you running a fever?” he pulled off a glove and pressed his hand to Victor’s forehead. “I can ask Yuu-chan to find the thermometer, I’m sure they have a first aid kit here somewhere-”

Victor’s paused for a brief second, then cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. “I’m fine,” he reassured Yuuri. “I just had a bad flashback, that’s all. I’m sorry I worried you.” He plastered a (fake) cheerful expression on his face before clapping his hands twice.

“Now, where were we? Doing quads?”

**July, 2016**

 

Victor appeared in the living room twenty three minutes past eight. He immediately made a beeline for Yuuri, startling the sleeping skater from his nap.

“Victor? You’re home!” Relief rushed through Yuuri, almost immediately replaced with panic, as he took in Victor’s terrified expression and tear-streaked cheeks.

He immediately knew.

It had happened.

As he sat on the couch cuddling his (now asleep) husband, Yuuri knew it was inevitable. It was bound to happen, seeing as how they performed dangerous, often gravity defying, moves on sharp blades for a living.

He just didn’t think it would happen so soon.

\----------

  
Translations:

離れずにそばにいて Stay close to me, never let me go.

 

This chapter was a lot of fun to write. Even though the idea for the chapter kinda evaded me for a while and took so long to put together, (which was why this chapter took a while to write) I’m glad I finally got it out on paper. I still only have a vague idea of where I want to go from here, which I know is a bad idea, but I can hopefully make it all work in the end and you guys won’t be too disappointed. I’m so shocked and grateful that this story that only had one chapter up already has _33_ _kudos_ (at the time I’m typing this note). Like, what?? How on earth do you guys even like this crap I’m spewing out? I’m so glad so many people like what I’ve written so far, and I hope you guys won’t be too disappointed in this in the end.

I think I’ll need a beta in the future, to help me catch any mistakes I make. I am only human, which means I will make stupid errors or forget to translate something or have glaring plot holes. If anyone has beta’d before and would be willing to help a struggling writer out, I would much much much appreciate it.

~Berri


	3. First Jump

**December, 1987/June, 1997**

 

For as long as he has lived, Victor had always known he was special.

The first time he skated was on his second birthday. His parents had told him in the morning that he had a special surprise waiting for him later, and if he was good, he might get it early.

Eager to get his “special” present, Victor tried not to squirm, sitting in the back of his parent’s beat up sedan and watching the scenery become a blur. When they arrived in the center of Moscow, he couldn’t help but gasp, staring at the giant grey building ahead.

When his skates were on and he stood at the edge of the rink, he froze, suddenly afraid.

“идти вперед, моя звезда,” his father encouraged.

Suddenly, a little boy rushed by, followed by a little girl, skating recklessly around the other skaters and laughing. Feeling a little braver, Victor took his first step on the ice.

Then promptly fell on his rear.

His parents held their breaths, waiting.

He slowly got up, scrunching his face in pain. Then took another step. And another, then another, then another.

Soon, he was able to glide on the ice without wobbling too badly, and even attempted the tiniest hop. He was surprised when the little girl and boy from before skated up to him, introducing themselves as Tara and Evengi. The rest of the afternoon was spent alternating between attempting tricks on ice and sharing hot chocolate in the food court.

Needless to say, Victor was completely worn out by the end of the night and fell asleep on the car ride home.

That night, he jumped for the first time.

When he woke up, was no longer snuggled in between his warm, poodle adorned sheets in Moscow, but laying in the middle of a small rink that had funny words written on the sides.

Sitting up, he crawled his way to the edge of the rink and padded towards the exit. He had no idea what was happening, but he wasn’t afraid. Strangely enough, he had a feeling he had been here before, even though Victor had never traveled outside of Russia before in his life.

He made his way to the bleachers and found a spot where he was out of sight but could still see. Soon, twelve little children came in, all a little bigger than him, wearing ice skates just like he had earlier. They entered the rink and skated around, talking in a funny language Victor couldn’t understand. He watched as a man older than his papa walked in. Immediately, all the children skated to the center of the rink. The man said something for a while, then the children split up into groups to different corners of the rink and began to skate.

Victor found himself drawn to a group near the exit of the rink, where a girl wearing a pink vest, and a boy wearing a blue and tan shirt were standing. The boy skated up to the girl, then turned a bit, his blades making a loud noise, which caused him to stop. He threw his hands up, smiling, and the girl clapped her hands and said something excitedly. Victor watched in dismay as an older boy skated up and knocked the younger boy down. The younger boy began to cry, as the girl and the older boy began to argue.

That was the last thing Victor remembered, as his vision began to blur and fade away. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them up, he was in his bed with the poodle covered blankets again. Not bothering to get dressed, he flung the covers off and ran downstairs to tell his parents about his amazing dream.

 

**September, 2020**

 

It was all Pichit’s fault.

At least, that’s what Yuuri tells himself as he tugs the zipper closed (finally) and hauls it off the bed, wheeling it next to Victor’s (obviously larger) suitcase in the hallway. Somehow, Chris has arranged a trip for all the men’s singles skaters to visit his native Switzerland, and even managed to gain approval from all their coaches by calling it a “training holiday”. Even though it was the off season for them, a holiday was still rare, and Yuuri wondered yet again how on earth Chris managed to convince Yakov to give his skaters a holiday.

(Although he suspected Yakov was not really as coldhearted as he appeared to be.)

“All set?” Victor asked, meeting him at the front door, slipping on his shoes and wrapping his grey scarf around his neck. Yuuri nodded and reached over to turn off the lights.

As the taxi approached Sheremetyevo International Airport, Yuuri felt Victor’s hand cover his own.

“Excited?” Victor asked, with a smile.

Yuuri felt his own mouth curve up.

“Yes.”

 

\-------------

Translations:

идти вперед, моя звезда Go ahead, my star.

 

There will be more info on what happened in Switzerland soon. I wouldn’t leave you guys hanging (or would I?). This chapter was so much fun to write, even though I had to do a lot of research on small things (the color of Yuuri’s and Victor’s suitcases, transportation between St. Petersburg and Moscow, the different rinks in Switzerland, and other things), which was at times frustrating, but I learned a lot from it. I really want to learn Russian now, haha. I doubt I will be able to speak it anytime soon, but I can try, right? The translations I’m getting for both Japanese and Russian are from Google translate, so I’m sorry to any native speakers who find errors. If you have any suggestions for improvement, please tell me in the comments, I would love to hear them!

Oh, if anyone is curious, I like to listen to music while I’m typing, it motivates and inspires me. The songs I mainly listen to while I’m typing this story are:

  * the soundtrack from _Kimi no na wa_ (Your Name), which is an excellent movie, everyone should go watch it!
  * Oh! Suketora!!! (Yuri on Ice OST)



I am still looking for a beta, so if anyone is willing to read my stuff unedited and give suggestions, just let me know!

~Berri


	4. Tell Me Now, It's Dark

**July, 2019**

 

“Unacceptable! Raise your arms higher!” The sharp voice called across the rink. Yuri Plisetsky scowled, furrowing his brows in concentration.

“Да!” he called, dropping his arms and skating to the center of the rink, taking up his starting pose once more.

Before he had a chance to begin, there was a commotion near the entrance. He turned his head to look and instantly regretted it.

“VICTOR YOU DISGUSTING OLD PERVERT!”

After a moment, Victor emerged from the men’s locker rooms in a slightly too small shirt and pants that didn’t quite reach his ankles.

“Sorry! Had some… difficulties this morning,” he admitted cheerfully. Yuri opened his mouth, but before he was able to say anything snarky, Yakov beat him to the punch.

“Vitya, I understand you’re shameless and don’t care what other people think, but for goodness sake! THIS IS A PUBLIC RINK!” he roared, turning red, then an impressive shade of purple. “HAVE SOME DECENCY! THERE ARE KIDS HERE!”

Whirling around, he all but growled, “What are you bunch looking at? GET BACK TO WORK!”

During his water break, Yuri felt someone practically staring _holes_ into him, and he didn’t have to guess who it was.

“What, you want to be labeled a stalker as well as a pervert?” he scoffed.

When he received no reply back, he turned around. Victor was sitting on the bleachers, scrolling through his phone.

Yuri scoffed, brushing the snow off his skates and stepping off the ice.

_Might as well see what’s got him so preoccupied. Probably just the piggy again, sending him nudes or something._

“Oy! Victor! That piggy better not be sending you inappropriate pictures again-”

He stopped short.

Victor was crying.

Victor clutched his phone with both hands like he was a man dying of thirst and his phone was his last bottle of water. Salty droplets dripped from his face onto the screen.

“Wha-” Yuri’s throat constricted, heart thumping painfully. He stomped up to the older skater and shook him.

“What happened to Yuuri?!”

Victor looked up, eyes rimmed with red.

“He’s dead.”

Yuri was confused.

“What? What do you mean? He’s with his family in Japan, remember? He needed to go back for some family emergency or another. Look, I’ll even call him!”

Yuri pulled out his cell phone and hit “3” on the number pad. Instantly, a picture of Yuuri holding the silver medal popped up, along with “dialing…”

Victor looked up in alarm. “No! Don’t call him!” he cried, scrambling off the bleachers and grabbing the phone away, slamming his finger on the red end call button.

Yuri looked at him in disbelief. “What the hell? You were the one not making sense, going on about how he’s dead…” He shoved the phone back in his pocket.

Victor wearily plopped down on the bleachers, hiding his face in his hands.

“I can’t… I can’t burden him like this… he has enough on his plate already…”

“What do you mean?” Yuri demanded angrily. “Victor, what does all of this mean? Why are you acting so weird today? First the public nudity, now the meltdown. Has your brain finally been scrambled into omelets?”

Victor looked up, pleadingly.

Yuri paused a moment.

“What year is it? What month?”

Victor closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, looking at Yuri.

“September 29, 2020.”

Yuri watched Victor’s face, searching, searching, and searching, for lies.

Finally, he spoke.

“No.”

“Yurachka, you can’t avoid it. It’s going to happen whether you like it or not.”

“Where?”

“I can’t…”

“How?”

“Please…”

“No. Not on my watch. The piggy is going to live, and he’s going to watch me smirk in his face as I win gold at the Olympics.”

“Yuri…”

“Don’t tell me you can’t avoid it! Why are you just taking this lying down?! I’ve never seen you step away from a challenge, Victor, and I’m not about to watch my greatest competitor and friend die! Not if I have anything to say about it!” Yuri exploded, face red.

“You think it’s easy?” Victor hissed, suddenly standing up. Yuri instinctively leaned back as the older skater towered over him.

“Watching my fiancé die- over and over and over and over again? How would you feel if that was Otabek?!”

Yuri blanched, face going expressionless.

Victor finally sat down, burying his face in his hands again.

“I’m sorry, Yura. That was too far.”

“That’s why…” Yuri began, struggling to keep his voice even. “I need to know. Please, Victor,” he begged, voice beginning to break.

“No,” Victor replied, without hesitation. “Because even if you evaded death there, he will die in another way. You can’t avoid death, Yura.”

“So what do we do?”

“We wait,” Victor replied, grimly.

Yuri mulled over Victor’s words as he left practice that day. He walked down the sidewalk and crossed the street, still pondering Victor’s words.

He didn’t want to accept Yuuri’s death. It seemed impossible- time travel was not possible, was it? But even so, how else would Victor have known that after practice, he would accidentally tie his laces in knots and spend thirty minutes getting them out, then run into Mila at the ballet studio, where she just so happened to be teaching the children’s ballet class after their teacher had gotten the flu and subsequently gotten into an accident going to the clinic?

_Victor is a time traveler._

_No, he’s a time jumper._

Yuri snapped his head up, just in time to see the car heading straight for him-

All alone in the rink, Victor stares at the clock.

_5:59 pm._

**_He will not remember the events of today._ **

_I’m so sorry, Yuri._

 

\------------

Translations:

Да- Yes

Whew! A super long chapter, with a lot of tension. Now the secret is out, poor Victor. He must feel so trapped right now. I also feel bad for Yuri, who is torn between not believing and wanting to help.

Fun fact: I originally wanted Victor to time jump, but due to poor planning, meet himself of that time and cause havoc, but the chapter took a really dark turn. I blame music- I was listening to “Tale of a Sleeping Prince” on repeat as I wrote this.

~Berri


	5. A World Filled with Music for You and Me

**December, 2016 Marseilles, France/December, 2001 St. Petersburg, Russia**

 

_Breathe in, breathe out._

_Skate._

“On the podium tonight is our winner, skater Yuuri Katsuki of Japan! He not only crushed his previous record from last year’s GPF, he set a brand new one! Unbelievable! He is one skater that will surprise you again and again! In a close second place is Yuri Plisetsky of Russia, only a point away from Katsuki’s gold medal finish. In third is…”

The words of the announcer faded to a blur as Yuuri stood on the podium: flowers in his hand, medal around his neck and heart pounding. People were cheering his name, lights were flashing, the Japanese national anthem was being played, but at that moment, only one thing mattered to him: finding his beloved.

He looked out into the crowd, focusing on the area where Victor said he would be standing.

_Where is Victor?_

\---

He landed in a darkened bedroom with an unholy thump, which startled the occupant of said room into waking up.

“кто здесь?” the occupant asked sleepily, sitting up and rubbing their eyes.

_That voice…_

Victor found himself staring into the cerulean eyes of his teenage self.

“Oh, it’s just you,” younger Victor said, yawning. “I thought it might be you.” He scooted over in the bed, flipping the covers open.

“Want to get in?” He eyed the ground. “It’s probably freezing there.” He shrugged. “Unless you don’t care, of course-”

Victor got up.

“Of course.”

He slid into the bed gracefully ( _right side, Yuuri’s side_ ), next to the smaller figure of his younger self. The bedside clock said 4:41 am.

(And of course, the bed is too small for a full grown adult Victor, but for a small, not-quite grown up Vitya, the size is _perfect_.)

“Where are you from?” young Victor asked, throwing the warm duvet over both of them and snuggling in.

“December, 2016,” Victor responded. He paused, then hesitantly asked, “have you-what year-where-”

“European Worlds are in a month,” his younger self responded, then added, “in Slovakia, in case you forgot. You tend to forget a lot of things and Yakov yells at you a lot for that.”

Victor feels a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“He does, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t care,” his younger self responds, flipping his long, silvery hair over one shoulder. “As long I win the gold, he won’t have anything to say about it.” He turns to his older counterpart, determination reflected in his eyes.

“I’m going to make a name for myself. I’m going to be famous.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Victor chides, tucking in a stray hair. “Sometimes, fame isn’t as glamorous as you think.”

His younger self huffed.

“I want to stand on the podium,” he whispered, dreamily. A thin, slender, hand reached up, drawing shapes in the air, painting a picture.

“Gold medal around my neck, flowers in my arms, the Russian national anthem playing…”

Victor catches a smile tugging on his lips as his younger self continues.

He had forgotten this, the feeling of _pure ambition, fueled by love for the sport_.

“…and stupid Georgi, he was being so melodramatic the other day…” his younger self rambled on. Victor bit back a chuckle.

_Some things never change._

Between one breath and the next, the world was tilting again.

\---

When Victor next opened his eyes, he was lying in an abandoned hallway, once again naked as the day he was born.

“Блядь,” he muttered, gingerly getting up while holding his pounding head.

Luckily, he makes his way into a dressing room before anyone notices his state.

Unfortunately, the clothes on the rack are all skating outfits- _women’s skating outfits_.

Victor debates for a split second before deciding _fuck it_ , and grabs a hanger at random.

\---

Yuuri is _speechless._

Yurio is _furious._

And the media are having a _field day_.

“Hi!” Victor smiles, putting on his best media-worthy smile.

 

\--------

Translations:

кто здесь? Who's there?

Блядь Fuck

haha, that ending though... :D Victor wearing a women's skating costume is just nosebleed worthy. And the best part is, he doesn't give a fuck about what he should or shouldn't wear.

Sorry about the shitty chapter this week. All jokes aside, I feel like this chapter wasn't anywhere near as good as the previous chapters. It was just all over the place, even though I wrote and rewrote it a million times...just, ugh. I'm so sorry guys. I got sick and had absolutely no energy for a few days,but of course I still had work and school, and those really zapped any remaining energy out of me. Then my muse for this chapter ran away and I had to take a break from brainstorming for a few days.

I'm really sorry. Hopefully the next chapter will be better. This chapter was just meant to be fluffy, about Victor meeting his younger self.

~Berri


	6. On Love: Agape

**March, 2015/April 2017**

 

Victor never really believed in God, or any religion, for that matter.

Of course, there were moments where Yakov would look to the sky and mumble “Боже, помоги мне.”

(These moments were usually after a particularly rowdy session on ice, where Mila would once again tease the overly sensitive Georgi about something insigificant, resulting in a sobfest and a near riot on ice.)

And even though he knows Yakov is not religious, even the normally stoic coach has his moments where he shakes his head muttering, “Бог поможет нам всем.”

Victor knows he is at least _one fourth_ the reason their beloved coach has no hair (the last fourth occupied by a certain former prima ballerina).

But when he met Yuuri, the drunk skater humping his legs in his inebriated state, eyes glassy and tie askew, Victor is pretty sure he is looking at God.

мой Бог, Victor thought, what did I do to deserve this?

So when Chris sends him the video of the Japanese ice skater, skating a near perfect copy of his _Stammi Vicino_ routine, Victor knows he has found it- his inspiration, a new meaning to his life, the Juliet to his Romeo-

Yakov disagrees.

“Vitya! Don’t go!” he pleads, spreading his hands. “Don’t you see? If you go, you can never come back!”

_You’re throwing away your career to chase after another skater?_

Victor just smiles.

“до свидания. Прости. Я не могу сделать, как вы говорите, на этот раз.”

“WHEN HAVE YOU DONE WHAT I SAY?!”

A few days later, he suffers a devastating blow when Yuuri doesn’t return his affections.

“Yakov! Yuuri doesn’t remember the banquet!” Victor wails, in a video call late one night.

“Of course he doesn’t, you silly boy! He was piss ass drunk! HE WAS POLE DANCING- NAKED!”

“Yakov, what do I do? He doesn’t love me!” Victor sobs.

“Oh for goodness sakes-” Yakov smacks himself with his free hand, then jams his finger on the _end call_ button. The last thing Victor hears before the line goes dead is Yakov griping, “Я не платят достаточно, чтобы справиться с этим дерьмом.”

 

It’s just his luck: Victor jumps a few days later, safely hidden in the dark of his room.

He lands face first on a carpeted floor, nearly killing himself with the sharp edge of the coffee table nearby. The pattern of the carpet looks familiar…

Sitting up, Victor looks around. Just as he thought, he had landed in his apartment in St. Petersburg.

Victor pads around silently, taking in the small changes: a shiny silver tea kettle sitting next to his coffee maker; three sets of toothbrushes in matching blue and green mugs; a pair of impossibly tiny skates next to two well worn, bigger, pairs; the adorable coasters shaped like teddy bears on the counter. Just as he’s picking up a set of sushi themed bowls-

“папа?” a high pitched voice asks.

Victor startles and fumbles the bowls, saving himself just in time. He gawks at the sight of a girl wearing cat pajamas standing the doorway, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“папа, что ты делаешь? почему ты держишь свои чаши?” the girl asked, yawning. She walked closer, curious.

“Are you my papa?” she asked, this time in flawless English.

Flabbergasted, Victor just stands there, still holding the bowls. The girl calmly takes the bowls from him and walks over to the dishwasher, opening it and putting the bowls away. She walked back and took Victor’s hand, leading him forwards to the living room. She tugs him to the couch where he sits, stiffly. Without any hesitation, she crawls into his lap, winding her arms around his neck.

“You smell like Papa,” she smiled, snuggling into him. “You must be Papa from the past.”

At his surprised face, the girl continued, “I’m just like you, you know. パパ says my personality is like him, but I look like you.”

Victor forgets to breathe for a minute.

“You mean-?”

The girl nods. “I can jump too, just like papa! ‘Cept I can control where I go, sometimes.” She continues, “I saw you skate, once. You were wearing your black costume with the silver sequins and the skirt and you had looooong hair.” She mimes with her hands.

Victor feels his breath catch.

“I’m learning to skate too,” the girl continues. “Uncle Yurio is teaching me how to do a triple salchow next! I’m still too little, but when I turn six I can take the test to start competing in Juniors!”

Victor takes a proper look at the girl sitting in his lap. _Silver hair, expressive brown eyes. Nose like Yuuri. Mouth like his._

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally. “I didn’t get your name?”

“My name?” the little girl asks. She puffs up her chest proudly. “My name is Evgenia. Evgenia Katsuki-Nikiforova.”

Victor stares, bewildered.

"Katsuki-Nikiforova...?"

The little girl looked behind him at the clock and gasped.

“I have to sleep now! I have to go skating tomorrow!” She pushed herself up and climbed off the sofa, leaving Victor feeling the sudden lack of warmth. Pushing her hair away from her face, she fluidly curtseyed, then scampered off to the depths of the room.

Victor stood in the empty living room and looked around. An open photo album caught his eye, and he opened it. The first photo was Mila taking a selfie with Evgenia, Georgi holding his head dramatically in the background. The second looked to be taken in the middle of practice. Yuri and Yuuri stood near the barrier with water bottles in their hands, seemingly discussing something. The next photo made Victor erupt into the cheesiest grin. Yuuri, Yuri, and himself stood with Evgenia taking a photo. He and Yuuri were holding Evgenia, who was making cat ears on a (begrudging) Yuri. For some reason, Victor couldn’t tear his eyes away, lost in how _familial_ it all seemed.

He flipped the page, blinked, and found himself back in an empty, dark, bedroom in Japan. His hand curled around the hard edges of his phone.

He may not believe in God or a higher deity, but he was just handed an opportunity- a rare glimpse into the future. Now all he had to do was to make it possible.

\---

Translations:

Боже, помоги мне. God help me.

Бог поможет нам всем. God help us all.

мой Бог my God.

до свидания. Прости. Я не могу сделать, как вы говорите, на этот раз. Goodbye. I’m sorry, I can’t do as you say this time.

Я не платят достаточно, чтобы справиться с этим дерьмом. I don’t get paid enough to deal with this shit.

Папа (Russian) Papa

パパ (Japanese) Papa **_Since they’re both male, Evgenia calls Victor “papa” in Russian and Yuuri “papa” in Japanese. Essentially, “Papa” and “Daddy”. How many languages does she know? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_**

папа, что ты делаешь? почему ты держишь свои чаши? Papa, what are you doing? Why are you holding my bowls?

 

This chapter was meant to be a look into the happier side of Victor and Yuuri’s future. The child is theirs, although not (exactly) biologically. Poor Yakov, he really doesn’t get paid enough to deal with Team Russia’s shenanigans. I love the idea of Yurio (reluctantly) bonding with their kid through ice skating. Victor and Yuuri would coo over how cute he is and he’d get all defensive and angry, lol. Expect more jumps into the past from now on, and more glimpses into Victor’s (made up) past. I also can't take credit for some of the ideas for this chapter, I found fanart and was inspired:

http://duskisnigh.tumblr.com/post/155784948079/oh-boi

Also, apparently since I’m a sucker for pain, I listened to “Tales of a Sleeping Prince” and “La Parfum des Fleurs” on repeat while typing to this.

~Berri

[Edit (2/14/2017): Guys we hit 100 kudos! Omg...I legitimately didn't think this story would be this well received. This has honestly been the best Valentines Day ever! Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, thank you everyone for all the support!]


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